I Never Run
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Roland and Grace wake up on the first morning of peacetime.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm making another experiment with the short chapter because of how busy I am and how much I want to still be able to write. I really hope you ****like**** it.**

The day dawned bright and cold. There were no clouds and the sun came up early, getting in through the gaps in the curtains, falling squarely across the bed.

The sound of a soft groan woke him from his heavy sleep. A noise made in half-wakefulness, in a voice that was not his. He could feel a gentle weight on his chest, a softness he wasn't used to. He opened his eyes.

It was Grace.

Grace Carter was there with him, in his bed, lying with him and naked with him. One of her legs was draped over his, her knee resting between both of his.

Surely, this was a dream- another dream. But he couldn't move, not without waking her. Her weight was pinning him to his tiny bed. There was barely room for both of them.

He laid his hand almost timidly on her hair where it began to fall down her back. A half empty bottle of brandy on his bedside table caught his eye. He was beginning to remember now.

The armistice had been signed. The war was over. That was not to say that they had any shortage of work- there were still plenty to be healed- but it was _over_. At last. they had waited so long for that to be true in any sense at all.

And there had been celebrations. The usual nonsense in the officers' mess, but he, Gillan and Hesketh-Thorne had extracted themselves as soon as possible and gone back over to where the nurses and aides and VADs were celebrating with the men. He had caught Grace's eye across the ward and exchanged with her the brightest smile he thought he'd ever seen. Everyone was happy, everyone.

Only when things were dying down did he get the chance to speak to her.

She was saying goodnight to some of the volunteers and he approached her quietly, gently touching her elbow.

"Come with me for a nightcap? Please?" he asked her.

She turned her head towards him, just a fraction, so that her lips were close to his for a moment.

"Alright," she replied quietly, "I'd like that."

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	2. Chapter 2

**Ok, so I've taken embarrassingly long to update; it's been a big week.**

They went straight into the good brandy. Tonight was not a night for half-measures of any description. The door closed tightly behind them, they were alone together for the first time in what felt like an age. Somehow the merry background chatter had grown just a little tiring. The public exuberance had definitely worn them down.

They sank into the chairs at either side of his desk, they sank into their glasses of the good brandy. They were tired but they were somehow both still smiling, smiling more than before, even, now that they were alone. It was quiet enough for them to be happy, together.

For a while, they talked quietly about what a blessed relief it was that it was all over. After a while, they fell silent, still smiling softly, on their second, third, glasses.

"I'll miss you, Roland, when we've gone home."

When he was silent in reply- for a moment he could think of nothing to say- she pressed on.

"I mean, I'm glad it's all over, of course I am. But-… nothing will be the same when we go back. It can't be. Things will be different."

"You're right," he agreed, "Things will be different. And I will miss you too, Grace. Very much indeed."

She looked up from her glass at his face. Their eyes met for a moment, and she spoke before she could fully process what it was she was saying.

"I've grown to love you, you," she told him gently.

He blinked hard for a moment, his lips parted involuntarily in surprise. Faced with his silence again, she simply continued.

"Maybe I always did love you and I've only grown into the realisation. I don't know. I don't know why I'm saying this-… You're about to go home to your wife, my saying this isn't making anything easier-…"

"No, Grace," he stopped her, "You don't know what things are like between Hetty and I."

There was a moment's pause. When he did not elaborate, she replied;

"I know I shouldn't be saying this no matter of how things are between you and Hetty," she reminded him.

"Shouldn't you?" he asked.

"No," she replied.

There was a silence.

"Nevertheless," he told her gently, leaning forwards towards the desk, extending his hands towards her, "I can't forget what you just said to me. I can't. I don't want to."

Her glass placed tentatively on the table, the tips of her fingers touched against his.

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	3. Chapter 3

He was tipsy at the very least. His usual ability to command his thoughts with any degree of decision had abandoned him. What she said filled his head, surged and pounded around his consciousness. I've grown to love you, I've grown to love you, I've grown to love you, I-…

I love you.

"I love you, Grace," he murmured, his eyes lingering somewhere at the base of her throat.

He heard her inhale sharply, and knew he'd shocked her before his eyes could even flit upwards to her face.

"Can you see why I can't forget what you said?" he asked her levelly.

"Yes," she replied softly.

They looked at each other for a very long, still moment. And then she reached, her arms stretching across his desk, for him, and he leant forwards too, into her touch, as her fingers settled tenderly on his cheeks. They looked at each other closely, as if for the first time. Both of them were breathing heavily.

"Will you let me come to your side of the desk?" he asked her.

"Yes."

That was the sole reason, he was sure, and she knew, that she stopped touching him.

But a second later, they were touching again, because he was next to her, close to her, he was falling to his knees before the chair where she sat, kneeling before her, between her knees, wrapping her body in his arms, pulling her close and kissing her. She was warm and tasted like the good brandy. She was parting her lips for him, allowing him full access to her mouth. She was moaning softly, her arms draped around his shoulders.

There were so many things he wanted to tell her. He wanted to say that his marriage to Hetty was over, that it had been for a long time now. He wanted to tell her how much it meant to him that they were here like this. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. But that would mean he had to stop kissing her, and for the life of him he could not, all he wanted to do was stay here, kissing Grace.

His lips trailed across her cheek, down her jaw.

"Darling," he whispered into her skin, above her collar, "I'm so in love with you."


	4. Chapter 4

He was kneeling on the floor in front of her, and he was kissing her so intensely that he thought for a minute that she was going to overbalance and fall with him to the floor. He wanted her, he realised, he wanted so badly to feel her, but not so much that he forgot to be gentle with her. She deserved better than clumsy manhandling. Nevertheless, he pulled his mouth away from hers with difficulty.

"Grace," he panted- he hadn't realised he was breathing so heavily, he'd forgotten about breathing, "Will you let me-…" he began to ask her again, but he was too afraid to continue. The drink had fortified him, but obviously not to that extent.

She watched him closely as he spoke, watched every expression that passed across his face.

She leant back in towards him and kissed him as deeply as she knew how. Where drink had failed to fortify him, her kiss succeeded.

"Grace, will you come to bed with me?" he asked her softly.

For a moment she said nothing. Then, reaching down to where his hand rested cautiously on her knee, she took his hand in hers, and stood, pulling him up to stand with her as well. She led him back towards his quarters.

She moved swiftly but for a moment when she had to pause to open the door. Half-turning back to him, she whispered over her shoulder to him, "I love you."

She was so seductive in that moment, her eyelids heavy with a mixture of all kind of things- happiness, exhaustion, lust- that, in spite of his will to be gentle, he could not help but lean forwards and capture her lips again. But she let out a moan of pleased surprise, turning fully into his arms, allowing him to embrace her, to push her through the doorway.

They stumbled towards his bed, clinging on to one another, reluctant to part even for the necessity of removing one another's clothes.

"Grace," he murmured as his hand slipped between the buttons at the front of her dress, "I love you. Let me make love to you. Please."


End file.
